


Buttercups

by AbigailKinney4life



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, First Dates, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Oneshot, Prompt Fill, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:14:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24091936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbigailKinney4life/pseuds/AbigailKinney4life
Summary: College Roommates AU Oneshot.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 23
Kudos: 276





	Buttercups

**Author's Note:**

> another tumblr prompt fill for the prompt 'college roommates au' (ohmygod they were roommates)   
> rating for bad language and fluff

According to the painfully bright light of Jaskier’s phone screen, it was 2am when his roommate stumbled loudly into their dorm room – crashing into everything on the way – and falling so heavily to the floor that it shook Jaskier’s bedframe.

He wasn’t especially surprised. Geralt Rivia, the six-foot slab of muscle that had stomped into his room on the first day of term, wasn’t exactly known for being light-footed. Jaskier had quickly learned that his heavy-handedness and towering presence made up for a distinct lack of words. He didn’t think they’d exchanged more than a few verbal conversations since they’d met. Geralt communicated in expressions more than anything else. Except when he was yelling at Jaskier to shut the fuck up when he got inspired at 6am with an idea for a new melody and started strumming it out on his guitar.

Jaskier groaned as he shoved his tired head back into his threadbare pillow. It was too thin and worn to really be comfortable, but he didn’t have the money to buy a new one. Never would, according to his parents. He could practically hear them scoffing that his study of musical theory would lead him to be nothing more than a poor street artist. The idea was romantic in the comfort of his family home but in the middle of sleepless nights on bad linen it wasn’t so endearing. Jaskier knew he’d never ask them for money, it felt like too much a precursor for their assumption of his future as a failing musician. That, coupled with the fact his roommate seemed to have an aneurism every time he picked up his guitar, hadn’t done heaps for his confidence.

He envied Geralt’s more ordinary interests, really. The brooding loner was majoring in chemistry and training in mixed martial arts, kick-boxing, advanced fencing and probably a million other fighting styles Jaskier couldn’t remember. But he had gone along to a few of his tournaments. Geralt didn’t have too many friends and Jaskier had been bored, and watching Geralt’s rippling muscles as he’d slammed some poor guy into the mat had the twin effects of ensuring Jaskier never crossed him and had awakened a primal desire within him that stirred in his gut for his roommate ever since.

Jaskier would never tell Geralt, but he liked him, he was one of the few who did. Maybe it was something about sharing the intimate parts of their lives in this dorm room, or perhaps it was because Jaskier was a bit of an outsider himself, he didn’t know. But something about knowing, after a hard day, that he was coming back to the familiar presence of Geralt working out or studying, with his long hair haphazardly tied back and worrying a pen between his lips, was comforting.

Except for right now, of course, when he wished the bloody maniac had stayed out all night.

“Geralt.” He groaned, voice muffled by the pillow. “It’s 2 in the fucking morning.”

“M’sorry.” Came the tell-tale drunken slur of any college kid breaking the door down in the middle of the night and lying face first on the floor. “Sorry, Jask…trying to find my bed…”

Jaskier heard him get unsteadily to his feet – wincing when he heard something crash as he did so – and then his bed was creaking and dipping as Geralt’s hulking weight collapsed down next to him.

“You’ve got the wrong one.” He mumbled.

“Mmm.” Geralt hummed comfortably.

Jaskier could feel the heat and weight of another body beside him on his narrow bed. He did his best to ignore it for as long as possible until it became apparent Geralt wasn’t planning on moving.

He turned over and was surprised to find them practically face to face. Geralt was still fully dressed in his customary black jeans, simple tee shirt and leather biker books. His arms were crossed under his head, his cheek resting in the crease of his elbow and his eyes were closed. His long hair was out of its ever-present tie and lying across his face. The urge to brush it out of his eyes was really quite hard to ignore, Jaskier found.

Jaskier swallowed as he stared at Geralt in the gloom of the dark room. It made it easy to convince himself this wasn’t really happening and Geralt wasn’t really there, being all quiet and soft and vulnerable like Jaskier had never seen him before.

“I thought you were staying out at Yennefer’s?” He asked, eyebrows furrowed together in confusion.

“Hmm.” Geralt huffed without opening his eyes, or his mouth, too much. Still, the space between them was so small in the narrow bed that Jaskier still felt his warm breath ghosting over his face. “Dumped me.”

Jaskier tried to quell the pleased jump in his stomach. He didn’t like Yennefer all that much. She was older and snarky and had an annoying habit of insulting him in everyday conversation before kicking him out of his own dorm room to shag Geralt. She acted like everyone on campus existed to do things for her, including Geralt, and Jaskier knew the silent chem student was fit enough and smart enough to do better.

Still, getting dumped sucked and it explained why Geralt was drunk and alone. Jaskier didn’t like the idea of him stumbling back from her dorm in the middle of the night, no matter how big and scary he was. He wondered if she’d had the decency to walk him back. Probably not.

“You okay?” He asked with pursed lips.

“Hmm.” But Geralt’s breathing was already evening out, and it occurred to Jaskier that maybe he hadn’t gotten in the wrong bed by accident. Maybe he was upset. Maybe he needed a friend. He looked at his stoic roommate, watching as the ever-present frown on his forehead evened out as sleep took him. _You big softie_ , he thought.

Feeling bold from a mixture of the intimacy of the dark room and Geralt being drunk and probably forgetful in the morning, he lent forward and pressed a chaste, dry kiss to his forehead. Stole it, really, because it was more for him. Warmth and adrenaline surged through him as soon as he’d done it, and it was hard to keep his voice steady when he quietly said: “you’re gonna be okay.”

Geralt mumbled again and shifted, turning more onto his side and releasing his arms from under his head. He inched a hand over the bed and let his fingers crawl over Jaskier’s clavicle until his arm came to a warm rest over Jaskier’s chest. He didn’t move again.

It took Jaskier a long while to sleep after that, afraid of moving and disturbing his depressed bedmate, but when he finally drifted off, his cheek rested against the warm back of Geralt’s hand and – he knew he shouldn’t have – but he felt content.

Geralt wasn’t there when Jaskier woke up and a wave of nervous worry washed over him. Obviously Geralt had woken up hungover and realised that he was cuddled up to his roommate and absconded from the room as quickly as possible. He was probably mad at Jaskier for not stopping him.

_Shit, shit, shit_ , Jaskier began to panic before he forced himself to rationalise that it was probably fine. Geralt wouldn’t remember the kiss. He was probably just embarrassed he’d climbed in Jaskier’s bed or out making up with Yennefer. He hoped it wasn’t the latter.

Jaskier intentionally busied himself that morning. He called his mother, went to the library, checked out some books for his paper on twentieth century music and its influence on post-war youth rebellion, hauled everything onto his bed with papers spread out around him and was halfway through highlighting important sections from the editors introduction when the door opened.

His heart jumped in his throat when he heard the door handle twisting but he forced himself not to look up. He heard the door close quietly but Geralt just stood in the room and didn’t move to his bed or desk.

“Hey.” He finally said.

“What’s up?” Jaskier asked casually, looking up. “How’s your head?”

Geralt was dressed in loose-fitting tracksuit bottoms with a grey vest almost obscenely stretched over his pectoral muscles. His biceps bulged where he held his arms awkwardly by his side. His hair was pulled off his face in a messy bun and he had a weary, tired look in his eyes. So he’d been to the gym, then.

“Fine, thanks.” He replied stiffly. “Sorry about last night.”

Jaskier affected a half-smile. “It’s fine.” He said. “Just don’t give me shit next time I’m playing in the middle of the night.”

Geralt’s face pulled into a tight smile and Jaskier returned his gaze to his papers. Things were going to be alright, then. It was a relief.

“Listen, I saw a flyer for an open mic night at _Posada_ in central tonight, I thought you might like to go?”

Jaskier’s highlighter paused on the paper. The glaring yellow bled through the paper until it softened and scored a hole through criticism of punk music being linked to heightened anti-social behaviour. Jaskier disagreed with such discourse, but not enough to ignore what Geralt had just said. Had he ever invited him to do anything since they’d met?

He looked up at the man still stood awkwardly on the other side of the room. That was another odd thing. Geralt was incredibly sure of himself. It kind of came with the territory of being a beast of a man. He was threatening, but in a calm and collected way, like a bodyguard. He rarely looked as unsure or nervous as he did now.

“What, like a date?” Jaskier joked, trying to lighten the mood.

“Yes, a date.” Geralt said seriously, his face evening out as part of his customary confidence returned. That sent shivers up Jaskier’s spine as much as the actual proposition did.

He was so dumbstruck that he agreed, feeling like Lizzie Bennett being asked to dance by Fitzwilliam Darcy. And just like Darcy, Geralt was out of the room with a swift nod not a moment later.

Jaskier just stared down at his textbook in surprise. “What was that?” He asked, as if expecting it to reply.

…

Geralt was dressed normally when they left the campus that night, in his usual black jeans and boots, but he’d changed his usual tee for a black button up shirt and he was wearing a fitted leather jacket. His hair was combed and neatly tied back. He looked kind of – smart, for Geralt at least.

Jaskier hadn’t really made too much effort with his appearance beyond jeans and a tee shirt. He was too surprised that he was apparently going on a date – or some equivalent – with Geralt goddamn Rivia the day after he’d broken up with his girlfriend. He didn’t know what was going on, but he was curious enough to be swept along with it.

_Posada_ bar was a short enough distance away that they walked there, which Jaskier was glad for. He didn’t think he could cope with riding on the back of Geralt’s bike and having to snake his arms around his torso and press into his back.

They didn’t walk hand in hand or anything like that, but they stood close enough to each other that their knuckles occasionally grazed as their hands swung in time with their steps.

Jaskier moaned about his paper and Geralt listened dutifully, smiling occasionally when the conversation demanded it. Jaskier asked him about his training and Geralt replied but it wasn’t what Jaskier wanted to ask him. He wanted to ask why Yennefer had dumped him, but he didn’t dare.

_Posada_ was pretty empty by the time they got there, from a mixture of being a Thursday night and being an open mic night. no one wanted to come and have a drink while a bunch of hipsters crooned out self-penned slam poetry and badly-tuned metal covers. But Geralt knew Jaskier was musical, he probably thought it was romantic.

Geralt ordered himself a bud and Jaskier opted for his preference of spiced rum and coke. Geralt made a joke about asking for a cocktail umbrella. Jaskier bit back good-naturedly with something about being classy. Geralt laughed. It was good banter, as dates went.

They stayed for a while, sat at a small table near the back, chatting easily and half-listening to the musicians playing on stage. Some of them weren’t that bad and Jaskier found himself listening intently and resting his hand on his arm as he relaxed into it. Geralt didn’t watch the band, he watched him.

After a while, a bartender got on stage and asked if anyone wanted to go up and have a go.

“You should go up.” Geralt said, no hint of irony in his voice.

Jaskier snorted. “I thought I was a terrible singer.”

“You’re only terrible at 6am.” Geralt said with a raised eyebrow. Jaskier laughed.

“Go on, go up.” Geralt repeated. “I’d like to hear it. You’ve seen me perform.”

Jaskier felt himself blushing. “I don’t have my guitar.”

“I’m sure they have one.”

Geralt was looking at him with a raised eyebrow and his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek in a way that suggested he wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

Jaskier rolled his eyes and heaved himself to his feet. A few people applauded disinterestedly as he snaked a guitar from the side of the stage. The instrument felt unfamiliar in his hands and he couldn’t help quickly checking it was tuned as he sat on the stool in front of the microphone.

“I, err, was bullied to come up here.” He said into the mic. The crowd laughed. Geralt smiled. It seemed worth it for that.

He played a soft melody he’d been working on and sang a few lines of lyrics he’d scribbled down in his notepads. It was a song about love and longing, as were most of his songs, and when his voice caught breathlessly around a feminine rhyme, the small crowd applauded and cheered and Jaskier finally looked up.

Geralt’s eyes were on him, slack and warm, and Jaskier suddenly felt like he was playing to Geralt alone, and like the song was about him, even though he hadn’t written it that way.

He finished with a blush to applause and awkwardly made his way back to his table as another act went up and started playing. He sat next to Geralt again and fiddled with a beermat on the table.

“You’re wonderful.” He rumbled.

“Yeah, but how’s my singing?” He asked cheekily, charm and bravado disguising shy embarrassment.

“Maybe one day you’ll learn how to take a compliment.” Geralt said into his bottle.

“I’m not used to compliments from you.” Jaskier pointed out, immediately regretting the words as soon as they were out of his mouth.

Geralt’s mouth merely stretched into a grin and that same self-assured confidence settled over his features. “I compliment you all the time, you just don’t hear me.”

On the face of it, it was a dumb thing to say, but it made butterflies flutter in Jaskier’s stomach.

Jaskier had a lecture first thing the next morning so they left soon after. It was nearing midnight and it was dark outside, but it was a student city, alive with life and takeaways and lights, welcoming and safe. They took a detour through a park, streetlights illuminating the grass, and Jaskier didn’t know if it was the alcohol or the dark, but he snaked a hand out silently and took Geralt’s. Geralt didn’t say anything, but he didn’t let go, either.

“I had fun tonight.” Jaskier said to the darkness.

“Hmm.” Geralt replied, but it sounded warm.

They walked slowly, both knowing they’d be in trouble for being back late to the dorm at this time but not quite caring.

Geralt ducked down and plucked a buttercup from the side of the grassy pathway and hauled Jaskier closer to him with their still connected hands before holding the small yellow flower under his chin.

“Do you like butter?” He asked.

“I think that only works when the sun’s out.”

Geralt shrugged and continued holding the buttercup out until Jaskier realised what he meant. He disentangled their hands and plucked the small flower from Geralt’s fingers.

“You’re picking me flowers?” He asked with a laugh.

“That’s what you do on dates, right?” Geralt quipped.

Jaskier’s free hand curled around the lapel of Geralt’s leather jacket and pulled the larger man towards him. A sound escaped him before their lips found each other. It was a soft, lingering kiss – a first kiss – and after a moment, Geralt’s hands came to rest gently on Jaskier’s hips as if he’d had to psyche himself up to do it. When Jaskier pulled away, he was bright red but his dizzy, embarrassed smile was dazzling.

He held the buttercup up to his nose and fake-sniffed it before slipping the stem behind his ear. Bizarrely, it suited him.

“Why did she ever dump you?” He asked sarcastically, smile still firmly in place, not chasing an answer, before his gaze dipped embarrassedly and he walked forward a few paces. He was humming to himself.

Geralt watched him with a sad little smile and an erratic heartbeat and replied, so quietly Jaskier wouldn’t be able to hear: “because I told her I’d fallen in love with my roommate.”

The end


End file.
